A Spent Apology
by myredrazzlevest
Summary: Interested in Enjolras after a playful arguement, Courfeyrac ventures out of the Café Musain to treat the leader to an apology of sorts.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

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Rain rushed the windows of the Café Musain as if the turbulent drops wished to break right through the windows, crash into a seat, and take up a drink. As often happens, the wind whipped up the rain, two true friends, creating a freezing maelstrom of violence. The occupants inside the café shivered both from cold and worry. Such a storm hadn't been witnessed in practically a year. Thunder and lightning soon joined the act, sound and light dancing uncontrollably. Not a single occupant wanting to brave the storm, the beer and wine were distributed copiously. The thunder vibrated the windows, like a man who shakes another from unconsciousness. One of the occupants glanced nervously outside, before moving in closer to the others – his comrades – for the night.

Many feet below, in a dim room only accessible by rickety stairs, a few comrades were situated, completely oblivious to the rowdy weather above. Down below, the room was heavy and hot, stifling. None of the men seemed to notice, for the motherland had placed a soft hand over their eyes. In fact, they were babbling away happily, the utter opposite of those above. But a mole will always feel safest whenever danger abounds buried in his hole.

"Would you still be inclined to support a republic if you were somehow made supreme ruler?"

Courfeyrac eyed the young blonde man on the other side of the table closely, the student's face appearing to glow with the most divine light. His eyes narrowed as he waited for an answer, seriously leaning toward the middle of the table.

Enjolras glanced over, replying with the most calm he could muster, "Of course. I support freedom with my heart and soul. If I were somehow to become ruler, why wouldn't I keep supporting the cause?" He straightened himself, seeming as if offended. If someone had claimed his own mother to be a whore, he couldn't have been more insulted.

Courfeyrac relished playing with people. He was like the energetic little terrier that bounds happily from person to person, making sure to annoy all in his terror. The other men all glanced at the student, realizing the agitation he was attempting to stir up. Bahorel cleared his throat, a warning to the other member. Courfeyrac didn't seem to notice he was prodding an agitated cat which was beginning to flex its claws. Bahorel cleared his throat again, only managing to catch the attention of Feuilly. Feuilly shrugged, as if trying to communicate, "Just let the idiot do what he must."

"Well first of all," Courfeyrac began dramatically, "you would be a ruler yourself – in the monarchy – which is the very opposite of a republic."

Enjolras huffed, "I could just create a law to promote representatives. There would be suffrage for all under my rule."

Courfeyrac wanted to will the conversation into an argument. He took a sip of wine, continuing dryly, "Not so easy, my dear friend. Why would you ever think Parliament would allow you to simply override their power?"

"I would force them to," Enjolras proclaimed. "Or I would go behind their back – trickery – yes, it has been done before."

As in all conversations which slowly begin to irritate one party who is unable to get a point through, Enjolras was growing louder. His demeanor had gone from relaxed to stiff and unyielding, like a rooster puffing itself up. Courfeyrac now glowed with the light of an unpleasant victor who enjoys conflict. He was smiling.

"Enjolras," he sang, "you would make a horrible ruler."

Enjolras furrowed his brows, growling, "Why?"

"Because," Courfeyrac replied simply, "you couldn't support something which wouldn't be applicable to you. Parliament would find a way to stop you, no matter what. Repression, yes it has happened before."

"Enough." Enjolras slammed his fist against the table. "I am sick and tired of this conversation, Courfeyrac," he hissed. "I don't want to talk about this subject anymore."

Courfeyrac was silent for a moment, taken aback by his companions' reaction. He had seen Enjolras frustrated before, but tonight the reaction felt different. The blonde was acting as if he was actually trying to control his anger. For once, it was as if he didn't want to argue his point. All the energy Courfeyrac assumed would flood through had dissipated.

"Aw, c'mon Enjolras," he purred. "Don't be a sore loser."

Enjolras cast him a stare which could rival Medusa's. "Courfeyrac, please do shut up."

"No," Courfeyrac teased. "I want to settle this argument."

Now Enjolras stood, small fists clenched at his sides. He was breathing heavily. "There is nothing left to argue, _my friend_. I'm not quite sure what has gotten into you tonight, but I don't like this attitude."

Courfeyrac quickly stood, towering above the vested student. "Do you have a problem with me?" He would have never treated a fellow comrade in such a manner, but he was strangely intrigued by Enjolras' actions.

The blonde shoved past him. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to leave now."

Enjolras hurried up the stairs, clutching to the bag slung over his chest. The other members watched him go in an awkward silence. Suddenly, the room didn't feel as stuffy as it did frigid. Courfeyrac remained standing. As soon as Enjolras was out of earshot, he felt an ominous, combined glare beating against his back. He slowly turned around, as if caught in some disgraceful act.

Bahorel was the first to speak. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Courfeyrac swallowed, blinking a few times in awe. "I swear he was different."

"Because you were being an ass," Feuilly snapped. "That wasn't an argument. You were simply picking him apart."

"He just can't play a game," Courfeyrac defended. "He's like a little unpicked flower happily bathing in the light. He doesn't know how to be a man."

"He does," Bahorel explained. "He's confident, but he just doesn't want to hurt us unnecessarily. Did it ever occur to you that we're like a family here? You don't intentionally hurt your family."

"I'm not saying emotionally damage him," Courfeyrac spat. "I'm just saying we should wrestle around this room once in a while. Dispel the bourgeois from him."

"Courfeyrac," Bahorel corrected sternly, "I think it best you go after him."

The charismatic student gave a wide smile, ran a hand through his hair and started up the stairs. "Very well," he sighed.

Bahorel collapsed onto his arm, which was spread across the table. "What has gotten into him?" He cried. "I swear that man is ridiculous!"

Courfeyrac walked through the café yelling as if he was searching for a lost dog rather than an actual human. He found the seeking rather amusing until a ferocious clash joggled his thoughts. He looked out the window and his face paled. If something happened to Enjolras, he would have too much guilt to bear. He only wanted a little violent playfulness, not send Enjolras out into such an intense storm like a death sentence. Without a second thought, he dashed out the door, rain instantly stinging his face. He hadn't even taken the time to throw on his coat.

Out on the dark street, the lights all having been completely drenched out, he started running. He knew where Enjolras lived, and prayed the blonde was only a few paces in front of him, trying to hurry home. Soon, his white shirt gripped his chest, his trousers becoming heavy and burdensome. But he continued to run, all the while calling for Enjolras, his shoes soggy like two giant sponges. He squinted through the rain, and thought to have seen a golden head seeming to portentously drift down the street. He forced himself to move faster, and before long, he was able to wrap his hand around Enjolras' slim shoulder.

The student gave a start. "What are you doing?" He yelled over the pounding din.

"I'm taking you back to the café," Courfeyrac announced.

"No." Enjolras tried to free his shoulder. "Leave me alone."

Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras' wrist with his other hand. "Fine! I'm taking you home!"

Enjolras struggled, but could not conquer the taller student. Courfeyrac stared mindlessly at Enjolras each time the lightning lit up his flushed face. He looked so exhausted that Courfeyrac began to wonder if his comrade was indeed alright. He had simply assumed everything was swell with Enjolras, but seeing the tired face up close, he felt his earlier opinions completely disappear. What he saw before him was a dear friend, a young man who he had sworn to work with.

"What?" Enjolras asked defensively, as he had been staring back.

Courfeyrac shook his head, scattering his thoughts. "Alright, come here, I'm taking you home."

Enjolras said nothing.

A few minutes later, the two young men reached the apartment. Courfeyrac was surprised at just how small the room was – for after all, Enjolras did come from a bourgeoisie background. The blond was the first to enter, leaving the door open. He instantly collapsed facedown onto the bed, clothes entirely soaked. Courfeyrac slipped into the room, locking the door behind him. He walked straight up to Enjolras, and wrapped his arms around his slim, wet body. Courfeyrac felt the other quiver beneath him.

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras whispered. "W-what are you doing?"

The taller placed a kiss behind his ear. "Hush," he commanded. "You were acting quite strange tonight. I want to know why." He placed another kiss on the side of Enjolras' neck, feeling the pulse quicken under his lips. "You can confide in a friend."

"Hmm," Enjolras murmured, starting to feel both uncomfortable and joyous at the same time. "I've never told anyone this…."

"Well you can tell me," Courfeyrac encouraged, his fingers working the buttons at the front of Enjolras' shirt. He slipped the sticky garment off, tossing it to the floor. If Enjolras was shocked, he didn't show it. He continued to lie across the bed, his back moving up and down with each breath, alabaster skin stretched over taunt muscles. Courfeyrac drank in the view as if he were dying of thirst.

"Well," Enjolras began unsteadily, "I haven't been feeling very virtuous lately."

Courfeyrac started to place kisses down the other student's spine, exploring each vertebrae with his tongue. "Why is that? I would admit you radiate virtue."

"Because, because," Enjolras stuttered. He was glad the other couldn't see his face at the moment, for he was red as a ripe beet. He buried his face into the bed spread. "Because I'm not taken by the opposite gender."

"So it goes," Courfeyrac sighed, undoing Enjolras' trousers. "Ami, il n'y a rien á avoir honte. Nous avons tous nos vices."

"But I don't feel right," the other cried.

"So?" Courfeyrac slid Enjolras' trousers off in one shift motion. He kicked the piece of clothing toward the wet shirt. "Be confident in every aspect of life, friend. Let me make you feel right."

Enjolras soon found himself staring up at the stucco ceiling, rain splattering against the window, the thunder farther off, but still loud enough to keep nerves on end. He was pinned against the bed, his legs swinging helplessly off the side. He watched, mesmerized, as Courfeyrac began to shed his own clothes, revealing his own smooth pastel skin. He stripped himself, but left his trousers hugging his waist. Enjolras thought he was gazing upon a vision straight out of a dream. Coming back to lean against him, Courfeyrac gently grasped Enjolras' wrists and pulled them above his head. He contemplated the seraph before him.

Even in the dark, with only the lightning to illuminate the room, Enjolras glowed. He had a warm light about his being, his cheeks tinted a rosy pink from embarrassment, his lips a luscious red from being exposed to such harsh weather. His hair was spread around his head in a fan pattern Feuilly would have been proud of. Courfeyrac was ousted from his pondering once he realized two deep azure pools were staring up at him. He hesitated a moment, as if unsure if he wanted to spoil such an angelic being, before planting his mouth firmly on Enjolras' parted lips.

As if something had been sparked within him, Enjolras fought against the hold on his wrists. Courfeyrac complied, placing his own hands on either side of his head. Enjolras began to explore Courfeyrac's chest with timid little hands and feather light touches. The kiss deepened, neither wanting to breathe, one tongue melding with another. Soon, both young men were gasping for breath as if they had been swimming through a tough current. Courfeyrac smoothed his hands over Enjolras' chest and abdomen, placing firm kisses all along his neck and collarbone. Enjolras unconsciously made soft whimpers, much to the pleasure of the other student.

Courfeyrac paused once he reached Enjolras' hip. He lavished the blonde's lower abdomen with kisses, while his hands stroked his hips heatedly. Enjolras' hands came to rest limply on Courfeyrac's head, his fingers slowly tangling themselves in his damp hair. Courfeyrac would have appreciated to have his hair pulled at, but such an action was for another time. He continued lower, his eyes shaded by thick lashes as he constantly looked up at the other. Enjolras watched Courfeyrac as a small child watches a piece of candy being moved about. At the moment, all his hope was situated on the other student's mouth. Courfeyrac finally slipped Enjolras' undergarments down to his knees, the blonde's arousal blatantly exhibited. A moment of silence descended upon the two young men. A rumbling was heard in the distance, accompanied by a burst of bright light. Courfeyrac gripped Enjolras' hips tightly and smiled coquettishly.

Enjolras' eyes soon fluttered closed.

If Courfeyrac could have been able to, he would have chuckled. So went the plight of the virgin. Enjolras gave a guttural moan as Courfeyrac hollowed out his cheeks, his tongue playing the other as if the task were as simple as getting dressed. He watched Enjolras with satisfaction – biting his lip, eyebrows furrowed, chest heaving with each pant. Courfeyrac let go of one of his hips to grip Enjolras' shaft roughly as he took him deeper into his mouth. Enjolras cried out at the foreign sensation, the sound so intimate, hearing it felt like a sin. Courfeyrac continued to skillfully work his hand and mouth in unison, and soon Enjolras was trying to thrust toward the tight warmth.

Courfeyrac didn't mind the enthusiasm, as he slightly pitied any young man who was ignorant to such delicious feelings. He felt Enjolras' hands tighten in his hair, and realized the blonde wouldn't last much longer. He was excused, for Courfeyrac knew he couldn't expect the inexperienced to not become exhausted quickly.

"Faster," Enjolras exclaimed demandingly. "Courfeyrac, please – faster."

He smiled against his ministrations. Never had he thought to hear his name pronounced with so much need – he had his mistresses, sure – but the way Enjolras said his name was completely different. He would treasure the sound of it. But for the moment, he sped up and watched as Enjolras tensed.

"I'm going to – to," Enjolras said breathily, he almost appeared afraid.

Courfeyrac used his free hand to stroke his inner thigh. "Hush, it's okay." He climbed up the bed and kissed the other student. "You can cum, Enjolras, I'm right here." He reached between them and continued to stroke the blonde.

"Courfeyrac!" Enjolras cried out, releasing right in Courfeyrac's hand. He relaxed, becoming limp against the bed. His heart was pounding wildly in his ears, his hands shakily freeing themselves from the other's hair. His entire face was a beautiful hue of scarlet.

"Don't be embarrassed, Enjolras. I want you to be confident in this – whether you want to be with a man or woman. Plus, I'm your friend. I help you out when you need it."

By the next day, the storm had rolled past Paris as if it had grown bored of the city. The Friends of the ABC met at the usual spot in the afternoon, all filing in at their own pace and trading welcoming nods. Feuilly had been the first to arrive, Bahorel the second, Grantaire the third. Courfeyrac entered a little later, whistling a pleasant tune, completely oblivious to the varying stares the others gave him. Situated at his table, he looked up and stopped whistling.

"I'm assuming you apologized to Enjolras," Bahorel said coldly.

But the student realized he hadn't actually apologized. He ignored the fact.

"Of course," Courfeyrac answered suavely. "I would even go so far to say I gave the king his due."

Bahorel shrugged off the last of what the other student said. He simply nodded. All was right with the bantam of comrades, and he was happy. A conversation was quickly ignited once the others arrived, Enjolras being one of the last and latest to arrive.

"I apologize for being late," he announced. Then he added a little softer, "I was so tired that I lost track of the time."


End file.
